Woke up dis mornin', just like I always do,
Don' know why 'xactly, but dis morning I'm feelin' kinda blue.
'Course, I'm a Norwegian bachelor farmer -- hey, whatcha gonna do?
Got myself a Guernsey, she's all covered with spots,
In spring she gives me fertilizer -- well, I give her Ex-Lax, and she makes garden plotz.
Some local kids got some paint, an' on my cow they played connect-the-dots.
Got a high-tech fishin' pole, dat new Zebco rod & reeler,
It's got anti-lock brakes, a cell phone, GPS, Weber gas grill, Firewire, and potato peeler.
And streaming internet radio, so on Saturday I don't have to miss Garrison Keillor.
I got my woman Inga -- an' Inga's lookin' mighty fine,
She's my hot Wisconsin mama -- twenty six, but she could pass for thirty-nine.
I ain't goin' out with her for her brains -- not that shes goin' out with me for mine.
She went down to da dock and wondered: How much lumber we got here?
She counted all the boards and slits between 'em, hit the end and disappeared,
I guess it's true what dey say -- when you're outa slits, you're outa pier.
When she got back on dry land, I asked her, Where'd ya go?
She shrugged and said, "Slit happens" -- why she said dat, I'll never know,
It musta been pier pressure -- Well, That's the song. I gotta go.